A Glimpse of the past
by ineedtogetalife
Summary: A series of unrelated stories, that will be marked as completed. Chapter five: The heart he hides (request). Erik discovers the consequences of his actions in Cuba.
1. The Echo of a Friend

**A/N: aaaayyyyyyy. I am so sorry I haven't written anything in a while. It's not because of school or anything, I just haven't had any ideas. Until now. I plan on making these a series of one-shots, and I'll upload as and when I think of something. Anyway, here's the first one.**

**I don't own anything that you're about to read.**

The Echo of a Friend

_Peace at last_ Storm thought, as she walked through the empty corridors of the mansion.

It was late at night, and the last of the students had went upstairs to bed, leaving herself and a couple of the teachers on the downstairs floor. The school had quietened down considerably, and a lot of the residents had lost their enthusiasm for the place in the aftermath of the incident with Alcatraz, and whilst things were finally starting to resemble normality, the absence of those three particular people was still noticeable.

Several of the girls were still recovering from the loss of Jean, and maths lessons weren't the same for most without Scott. As for the professor…

She made her way into his office, balancing her papers as she went. It didn't matter that he was gone, or that she was now headmistress. As long as it said "Xavier's school" at the entrance, it would _always_ be _his_ office. With a sigh, Storm opened the door, preparing herself for a long night, when she stopped in her tracks.

There, sitting against the desk with a large volume in his lap was a small boy, no older than five with shaggy brown hair falling over his big blue eyes. Normally the sight of a child wouldn't disturb her so, (she worked in a school after all) but there was one thing about this child that caused her alarm.

She didn't recognise him.

Storm had been at the school now for several years, and had seen many mutants come and go. However, now that she taught these kids, it was her responsibility to know who was who, in case someone ever tried to attack the school again. Cautiously, she edged into the room, and was about to open her mouth when she heard a voice behind her.

"Son, what are you doing in here?"

She turned to find the voice's owner, and was met with the sight of a tall, slender man with the same shade of dark hair, with a pair of thin-rimmed glasses resting on his nose. He was wearing a white shirt with a dark green tie, and (like Storm) was holding a mountain of papers in his arms. Curiously, he didn't appear to be looking at the puzzled teacher, but rather at the boy, who had now raised his head from his book, and was wearing the same sheepish expression one might expect to see from a child with their hand stuck in a cookie jar.

"Sorry Father. I…I couldn't sleep…and I thought that reading might help, and…" the boy trailed off, and stood up by the desk, clutching the leather book to his chest.

The man at the door smiled in amusement, and walked towards his son. At this point, Ororo wondered how neither of them had noticed her, but soon got her answer when the father walked _straight through her_, causing the woman to shudder. She followed his progress across the room, and watched transfixed as he kneeled down in front of the flustered kid.

"It's alright kiddo, but your new tutor is coming at 9 tomorrow, and we can't have you falling asleep on her." He said gently, as he placed his own papers on the table top, before picking up the boy (book and all) and carrying him back across the study.

A small mumble came from the boy, who was somehow managing to hold onto his father as well as the beloved book. The man chuckled softly in response, before reaching the door. However, instead of walking out, both of the figures simply disappeared, leaving the room silent once more.

Storm was so confused that she only just registered that neither speaker was American.

* * *

Storm had nearly forgotten her midnight encounter, when several weeks later something similar happened. She was in the middle of grading some papers, when Kitty burst in, and told her that there was an intruder on campus. Startled, she made her way to the window, and looked out into the garden.

The same little boy, who was now at least 7 or 8 was running about the garden, wearing a smart jumper and a pair of grey shorts. He was holding a wooden aeroplane in his hand, giggling as he continued to play a game that only he was a part of, seemingly oblivious to the students who were watching him with cautious faces. One girl tried to approach him, but only yelled in surprise as, like before, the child simply ran through her.

Vaguely, Storm heard Kitty's voice asking her what was going on, when, just like the other night, the boy with his plane vanished without a trace.

* * *

After telling the rest of the staff what was going on, the little boy was now showing up all over the manor, seemingly at random. Every time he was seen, the child seemed to age a little more, and he could appear in any room at any time.

Sometimes he was in the kitchen, drinking a glass of milk. Sometimes he was in the recreation room, drawing a picture. Sometimes he was in the library, with his nose stuck in a book.

He wasn't always alone either. There was occasionally a blonde woman in formal dress, Sharon apparently, but she seemed so disinterested in the child that it surprised Storm to hear him call her "Mother". The Father, Brian she learned, had somehow died when the kid was still quite young, as she found out when the Mother, the boy and another man were standing around a grave in the garden. This man was called Kurt, and he and his son Cain proceeded to make life miserable for the small boy, with taunting and beatings that were unpleasant for anyone to watch.

He was joined at some point by a girl, younger than him, with blonde hair and rosy cheeks. He called her Raven, and the two were inseparable. Brother and sister in all but blood.

Oddly enough, no one ever mentioned the boy by name. The part of Storm that wasn't completely bewildered felt slightly guilty that she was practically watching this child grow up and couldn't refer to him as anything other than "the boy". She could only watch on, as he slowly became taller, smarter, faster and stronger. He seemed to retreat into himself at around the age of 9, but by the time he was 12, this child was back to walking around with a mega-watt grin, and an accent and whit which he used to his advantage.

There were scenes that broke her heart, like when his elder step-brother would chase the child around and beat him up in a very non-sibling like manner. There were also scenes that made her smile, like when he would tuck his younger sister into bed, and vow to always protect her.

Eventually, the Mother died too. There were very few tears shed this time.

By the time the boy was 18, he became the owner of the house and his family's fortune. Storm watched on with a hint of pride and satisfaction, as the new lord of the manor threw Kurt and Cain out, telling them to never return. She heard him tell his sister something about Oxford University before they too walked out the front door, with a suitcase in his hand and his head held high.

At this point the ghosts seemed to have vanished, and Storm wondered if that was the last she'd ever see of the mystery child. It wasn't until a few months later that the boy came back, except he wasn't a boy anymore.

This was a young man, roughly 24. He wore his brown hair short and neat, with those same blue eyes that had now begun to regain their spark. He was dressed well, with a sweater and grey pants, and walked with an air of confidence that he had been lacking before.

The little girl was back too, as well as a handful of young men who regarded the boy with trust and gratitude. Although all these people were there, there was one other who was far more prominent.

There was another man, who looked to be around 28, whose lean figure stood just above everyone else's. He and the boy seemed close, and where there was one, chances were the other was keeping them company. The boy was no longer as energetic as before, instead was content to sit with his companion, and chat over a chess board and a glass of whiskey.

It was one of these conversations that finally gave her the answer she'd wanted all along.

The two were playing their usual game, when as if the boy had spoke, the man looked up at him with fondness in his gaze.

"Honestly Charles, I'm not sure why I put up with you."

It was as if someone had poured freezing cold water over her. Suddenly, over 8 months of puzzlement fell together, thanks to that name. The accent. The clothes. The big heart.

Charles. _Professor Charles Xavier._

Storm could only watch on amazed. The boy, who she'd seen go through hardships that could turn even the purest hearts bitter, turned out to be none other than the man she had often regarded as a father-figure. Part of her was surprised. Part of her had known.

Suddenly, it didn't matter what the two men were saying. It didn't matter that the game had come to a close, or that the two were seemingly conversing without words.

Storm had just watched the origins of her mentor, a hero in his own right. A little boy who would grow up to change the world. And she couldn't thank him enough.

**The End  
A/N: TADA! I hope you enjoyed it, and I apologise again for not writing for a while. I only have very vague comic book knowledge, so some of this won't be accurate. Sorry for any spelling mistakes, and feel free to leave me a review or an idea for another story. Until next time guys... :3**


	2. All Hell Breaks Loose

**A/N: This is just another idea that I had and wanted to try out. Anyone who watches Supernatural will probably be able to tell which episode gave me the inspiration for this one…  
I apologise for any spelling mistakes, or if anyone is OOC. **

**Warning: CHARACTER DEATH. NO FLUFF TO BE FOUND HERE. SOMEONE WILL DIE. Also blood... Merry Christmas?**

All Hell Breaks Loose

The missiles were still on their course and heading towards the humans at sea, yet Erik now had the majority of his attention on Moira, as she fired upon him. He scoffed internally, wondering what the woman was hoping to achieve by attacking him with _metal_ bullets. He was so confident, in fact, that he didn't pay any attention as to where exactly he was deflecting the bullets to.

His confidence proved to be his downfall however, as after he carelessly tossed another projectile aside. Barely registering the quiet thud to his left, he watched on confused, as Moira suddenly lowered her gun and looked at him with the most shocked and disbelieving glance he'd seen. After a beat, he realised that she was actually looking past him. Erik followed her gaze, and felt his heart stop.

Oh god. Charles.

Whilst he'd been carelessly tossing bullets away, he'd completely forgotten the young telepath who had been staggering to his feet after their tussle in the sand. With a sickening lurch, Erik realised what the noise was that he'd heard before; it was the sound of a bullet hitting Charles in the back.

Charles' mouth was open with a silent scream, his face the picture of pure agony. As he began to topple forwards, Erik was pulled out of his revere, and ran towards his friend, and only just managed to catch the mutant as he sank to his knees. Vaguely, he heard Raven's yell, and felt the boys rushing towards them. Without realising it, he'd tossed them all down the beach by the metal in their suits, whilst never once looking up.

He didn't even realise that the missiles had all been destroyed. Nor did he care.

The usually bright and alert Brit was still listing forward, as his blue eyes began to gloss over. Erik struggled for a minute to support the man's ever-increasing dead weight, but he swiftly found his balance, mirroring Charles on his knees in the sand. "I'm so sorry." he whispered, pulling the younger man forward to rest his head on his shoulder. "Hold still, let me see…"

Placing his hand over the impact wound, Erik tried to assess the damage with a level head. That mask of calm lasted approximately a millisecond, as he felt his hand become wet. Bringing it up, his heart sank impossibly lower as his hand came back red.

He dimly registered what that meant, as he pushed Charles back off his shoulder, supporting his lolling head by placing his clean hand on his neck. "Listen to me, it's not that bad. It's not that bad, alright?" he chanted, not entirely sure who he was reassuring. Ducking his head slightly, he tried to meet Charles' eyes, and felt his pulse quicken as his friend struggled to focus on the same spot for more than a few seconds. Erik tried to convince himself that his imagination was the cause of the red flecks of blood that were dotting Charles' mouth.

Erik had seen that look before. It was the same look worn by men who were about to die.

Ignoring the way his voice shook and refusing to let the tears in his eyes spill over, he brought the hand from Charles' neck up to cup his cheek, and gave him a few quick taps, in a vain attempt to ground the injured man's attention. He felt a spark of hope as blue half-lidded eyes briefly met his. _He's holding on._

"Charles…? CHARLES! Look at me, we're going to fix this, okay? You'll be just fine." He spoke slightly louder and more rushed than before, trying to make his voice sound as comforting as possible. After Shaw killed his parents, Erik had almost forgotten what a comforting voice had sounded like. Until, that is he met Charles.

"We're going to get you to a hospital, you understand me? I've got you, I promise, it's going to be alright. "

He paused, trying to see if his words were having any impact. He swore his heart skipped several beats when he realised that at some point, the younger man's eyes had fallen shut. Bringing his other hand up, the one that was still wet with blood, Erik brushed the other man's bangs away from his forehead, and brought both hands to Charles' cheeks, now noticing how sickingly cold and pale they were, and shook the man once harshly.

"Charles?... Charles, please, I…"

He lessened the pressure on his hands slightly, and couldn't help the first few tears that began to cascade down his face, as he watched the telepath's head fall forward completely. He waited a moment for the breath that was never going to come.

"CHARLES!"

Giving the man a final shake, he prayed to any deity listening that this whole day had been one big, sick joke; that mischievous eyes and a self-assured smirk would light up Charles' face. However, neither of these things happened. Instead, his friend stayed still and silent, confirming what Erik wished wasn't true.

Charles Xavier had died. By Erik's careless hand.

Feeling like the lost little boy he'd been all those years ago after his mother's death, Erik pulled Charles forward once more, until his head was resting on the German's shoulder. Cupping the back of the younger man's head with his right hand, Erik simply sat stunned for what felt like years, before he rested his cheek on top of his brother's brown hair.

"No. No no no no no no no. Oh god-"

Clutching tightly to the dead weight that he now held, the metal-bender slowly began to gently rock them both, harsh sobs shaking both bodies as Erik cried. Trying to hide his face in the unruly mop of hair, Erik realised that he was still wearing his helmet. He quickly yanked it off and threw it as far away from him as possible. Unlike before, there was no comforting presence lingering in the back of his head, but instead could hear nothing, apart from his own rapid heartbeat.

For what must have been the 5th time that day, Erik felt as if he was going to throw up. In his last few moments, Charles may have been trying to contact him, only to be blocked out by Shaw's helmet. The telepath must have been terrified: a pain in his back, his world becoming darker and colder, unable to reach his friend. The German hadn't even gotten to say goodbye.

At this thought Erik simply wept harder, and pulled Charles impossibly closer. Had he cared, he would've heard the rest of the team approach them. He would've heard Raven scream her brother's name, before turning and sobbing into Beast's shoulder. He would've heard the groaning of the submarine's metal, as his grief threw his powers out of control.

He may not have heard these things, but he did realise the cruel irony of the situation:

A wave of Shaw's hand had killed his mother. A wave of his own hand had killed his best friend.

**A/N:… please don't hurt me. I got this idea through watching the final scene from Supernatural 2x21 a few too many times, so you may recognise pieces of the dialogue. I won't kill anyone next time. Promise. Thank you for reading, and please leave me a review telling me what you thought, or a suggestion for what I should write next. Until next time guys… :3**


	3. Hope

**A/N**: **Hai. I feel like clearing this up before I continue: these stories are all individual chapters that are completely unconnected from each other, so if you choose to skip one, you won't be missing out on any plot points. If you have any ideas that you'd like me to try, feel free to leave a review with your idea.**

**Anyway, here's the next one. It's a sort of AU when the younger Charles gets sent into the future, and who he ends up getting his hope from. Try not to think of the science behind how he can interact and walk around, just assume he can. I hope you enjoy :3.  
I don't own jack squat. **

**I promise, next update won't take this long…**

Hope

The first thing he noticed was that it was dark. Cold and dark.

The second thing he noticed was that he was lying on an altar.

Hesitantly, Charles sat up, taking in the sight of where Logan had sent him- the future war that would destroy mutant kind. He knew that all he would get to see would be a small sample of what was going on, yet from the way Wolverine had first described it to him, the loss, pain, and bloodshed, a small, guilty part of him was slightly relieved that he wouldn't have to see all of it.

_Not yet anyway._

Pushing away his dark thoughts, Charles noticed that he wasn't alone in the monastery that he'd found himself in. At his head sat two mutants who looked to be about his age, one of which was hunched over in what looked to be considerable pain, whilst the male was crouched by her side holding her steady.

His attention was drawn to the other side of the stone slab, where he sensed a faint telepathic mind, not unlike his own. Sliding off the table, he slowly began to walk over towards the signal, where he noticed two men who were considerably older than the room's other occupants. Both were dressed similarly in black armour, and had an air of wisdom about them. The fact that the mind he had felt before was coming from the man in the chair made his heart jump into his throat.

_No, it can't be…_

They seemed to be deep in conversation, and it wasn't until he stood about a foot behind them that the other telepath paused, before slowly turning around to face him. The fact that he recognised his own eyes staring back at him confirmed his suspicions. Charles was looking at himself.

There was a pause, wherein which both telepaths were studying the other, before the older of the two turned fully around and gave him a small smile. "I was wondering when Logan would send you. The fact that you're here means that you've got your powers back, so at least they've got a better chance."

The Professor huffed a small laugh at the sight of his younger self standing before him with his mouth hanging agape. Despite the situation, it was still amusing to see the man he'd been: shaggy, chestnut hair that desperately needed a trim coupled with a fashion sense that was god awful even by the standards of 1973.

Hearing his friend speaking to someone else, Magneto turned around and had to do everything in his power not to stagger backwards. The sharp exhale of breath and softening of his eyes couldn't be prevented. "…Charles."

Sure enough, standing before him was Charles Xavier. Oddly, the fact that he **was** standing wasn't what caught Erik's attention first. It was the fact that he was looking at a young man in his early 30s. This wasn't his wise and composed friend; this was a scared, confused and broken man who looked as if he needed a mentor himself. This Charles was still struggling with depression and addiction, not exactly the definition of a leader or a teacher. This was before the X-Men and the Brotherhood, before Alkali Lake, before Alcatraz.

Before Erik had got it all wrong.

Erik watched as the new arrival's attention fixed on him. If it was possible, the younger man's disbelief only grew. He allowed himself to be scrutinised, before blue eyes widened in shock.

"Erik?"

The addressed gave a small nod, allowing the younger man to get his head around what was going on.

"I don't…I don't understand. How is this possible?"

The professor moved forward, looking at his younger self as if he were simply another student in need of help. "Logan used his mental link with Kitty to bring you forward in time, I assume you know why" he stated.

"Ah…he said something about…looking for someone who could help me."

The other two seemed to understand, as they both nodded in sync with a look of understanding. The gesture only added to the younger man's confusion. Charles had just left a time where Erik had walked away _yet again _seemingly without a second thought. However, here he was. Standing beside him, just like they had before that bloody beach. The next thing he noticed shocked him more, and he couldn't bite back his snide remark.

"Lose that damned helmet somewhere, did we?"

Erik blinked, confused, before he understood, and Charles took grim satisfaction at the look of guilt. The older man looked like he was about to speak, but didn't get the chance.

"Why are you here? Times must truly be desperate if you're choosing to stand by my side again!" He didn't understand. The younger Erik had made it quite clear where he wanted to be, yet here he was. Of course, Logan had said that they had sent him back together, but hearing and seeing were two very different things.

"My young friend, I have been fighting by your side again for some time now. I came to the mansion just before this war broke out, and we worked out a truce. Formed an alliance together."

"But what for? I mean…Surely you can do this alone?"

"I suppose I could. But I don't want to."

_You're not alone. Erik, you're not alone._

Those words seemed so far away, a distant memory of a man who had once held so much hope and compassion. Somewhere along the way, that man had left. Charles wasn't foolish enough to think that he was coming back. He'd simply lost too much to regain the pure optimism that had often been mistaken for naivety. The intensity of Erik, along with the tears that Charles was determined _not _to let fall was quickly becoming too much, and he found a sudden interest in the floor.

"Charles, look at me."

The voice had found its way to his side, yet he dared not look up. A few seconds later, he felt a hand underneath his chin, and his face was tilted gently upwards until he was looking at Erik directly. The other man made sure he held Charles's gaze, before continuing.

"I was, and always have been, a foolish, arrogant man. I have done many things that I regret, and many more things that I will never be able to forgive myself for. However, all that guilt pales in comparison when I think about what I did to you. You were the first man to show me compassion, you believed in me when not even I did. I am eternally grateful for the unwarranted kindness that you gave me."

"Now, I think we can both agree that I was somewhat stubborn in my youth." He said with a weak smile, causing Charles to give a small chuckle. "But these are words that you need to hear. My friend, I am so sorry for getting you caught in the crossfire of my stupid battles. Saying you didn't deserve it would be too severe of an understatement. I am not asking your forgiveness, but I want you to know that I shall always hold you in the highest regard, and I thank whatever fate it was that crossed our paths all those years ago."

To say Charles was stunned wouldn't do it justice. Erik had all but poured his heart out to him, expecting to be pushed away again. He felt the sudden need to comfort the elder, and told him what came surprisingly naturally.

"I forgive you."

Seeing the scepticism this caused he added. "You weren't the only one at fault that day." No need to clarify which day he meant. "I was extremely inconsiderate when I spoke to you. I realise now that there are possibly a thousand better things I could've said. Who knows? You may not have stopped, but at least we could've parted company on better terms. And maybe standing up next to an angry man who could deflect bullets wasn't my brightest idea." He wore that same grin that Erik had only moments ago, albeit more tearful.

"Besides, you should give your younger self a bit more credit."

Curiously, his own counterpart seemed content to remain silent.

"On our way to find Raven, you… he apologised…for everything."

"I hope you know he meant it"

Before Charles could say anything more, there was a resounding crash from outside. Magneto and the Professor shared a look, before the formed headed towards the doors. He was half way down the corridor when he noticed the footsteps that were trailing after him, and turned to find their owner, surprised yet grimly proud to see that it was Charles.

"No," he said, holding a hand up to halt the younger man's progress "you're going to stay here. Promise me you will."

"Why?" Came the nervous reply.

Magneto looked him in the eye, expression softening, with the side of his mouth curling upwards "Because I can keep you safe, for once. One last victory, eh? Please Charles, allow me that." His words seemed to only distress the man further, so Erik found himself moving towards him without much thought, and pulled him close, resting a hand in the too-long hair. "Oh, my friend."

He felt a pair of arms hesitantly return the gesture, and a head lean forward to rest on his shoulder. If only, he thought, his younger self had realised that during his suicidal crusade to avenge his mother, he'd found another family to fight for, to _live_ for. In fairness, Magneto himself hadn't fully understood this until he'd watched the man ripped apart by the Phoenix. Now, however? He'd been given a second chance, and that was something Erik was thankful for every day.

As much as the embrace seemed to calm them both, there was still a battle waging outside. Reluctantly, he loosened his grip, and felt his friend do the same. "Thank you," he said, for what he didn't specify. He only had a few moments to thank someone for over 50 years of friendship. An impossible task, but one he had to attempt. He pulled back to fully study the other man, before raising a gloved hand to wipe the stray tears that had begun to fall down Charles' face. He leaned down to press his lips softly to his head, before pulling away completely "and goodbye."

With that, he strode away to join the others defending the monastery, not daring to look back.

Charles watched the older mutant walk away, quite possibly he realised, to his death.

That thought was enough to cause him to stagger back slightly, and press his hand to his mouth to calm his breathing. _No, _he thought, _this can't be it, it __**can't**_. Never before had the telepath felt so helpless. Here he was, fighting of tears in a monastery years ahead of his time, with death, bloodshed and chaos surrounding him. His own disinterested words suddenly made him want to throw up.

_We all have to die sometime._

Yes, that may be true. But **not** like this. He'd been wrong before with Logan, _this_ was the future that he didn't want.

"So change it."

He spun around, fixing his attention back onto his future self, who was now watching at him with a look of sympathy, determination, and pleading. There was another emotion there too, one the Charles would never thought he'd see himself display again.

Hope.

He didn't know he had moved until he found his hands resting on the arms of the wheelchair that he'd cursed for so many years. That's when it finally hit him; his disability wasn't what was holding him back, he was.

"This doesn't have to be your future. You have the power to change what you see, do what I didn't. But you have to believe that it's possible."

"I'm not sure that I-"

"Just because someone stumbles, loses their way, doesn't mean they're lost forever. Sometimes we all need a little help." Charles was under the impression that it wasn't just him that the professor was talking about. "This future, this world, is yours to change. You and Erik can do this, trust me. I know you're afraid, I remember, but if you allow yourself to feel the pain that you fear, you will become more powerful than you could ever imagine."

Suddenly, his mind was filled with images. Unlike with Wolverine, these projections were calmer, slower. He saw young children, mutants he realised, walking down some very familiar corridors whilst they were laughing and smiling. Students, then. _My students._

"Please Charles, we need you to hope again."

Meeting the eyes of his elder self for one final time, he pulled away, only to find himself back in Cerebro in 1973. "Find what you were looking for?" came a kind voice, and Charles looked up to see Logan regarding him slight worry and apprehension.

Vaguely, he heard Hank mention something about the generator being back online, but the telepath's eyes never left the Canadian's. He understood the man's urgency and desperation, as they were now emotions he shared. For the first time in far too long, he knew what he needed to do.

"Yes. Yes it is."

**A/N: Well, there ya go. I apologise if anyone was OOC, or if I've misspelled anything. Thank you for reading, and please leave me a review telling me what you thought, or if you've got a prompt for me. Until next time guys…**


	4. One Last Farewell

**A/N: So apparently I specialise in stories where a character is dead/dying/generally sad. Who knew? Anyway, here's the next one. **

**This story is set after the events of X3, and uses the characters from FC. This takes place before the sentinel war, so anything that happened in DOFP won't be mentioned. It's basically Erik paying his respects to an old friend, and thinking about how their story ended (as far as he knows…)**

**Warning: Mentions of a canon death and mentions (about 1 line) of abuse, so read with caution. Still don't own anything-damn **

One Last Farewell

He hadn't cried, that's what bothered Erik the most.

Of course he was upset. Mortified even. There were several ways he'd expected that meeting with Jean to go. _This_ wasn't one of them. Here he was, standing before the memorial of the only man who'd shown him any sort of compassion in over 50 years, yet his eyes remained curiously dry.

It may have something to do with the fact that it was a _memorial_, rather than a grave. The Phoenix had left nothing; no body to bury…just atoms and dust. It may have something to do with the fact that he was simply too stunned to shed any tears. Oh, he'd lost people before; his parents, a few followers. Not that he was happy about any of those loses, but this one felt too strange to be real. The words "Charles Xavier" and "dead" still didn't feel like they belonged in the same sentence. He had tried to stop the man on countless occasions, but not kill. Never kill.

More likely, it was because he'd already shed all the tears he had for Charles. Not now, but about half a century ago, in the distant past of 1962. On that fateful day, on that god forsaken beach in Cuba, where Erik Lensherr truly became Magneto. After leaving (_abandoning, you mean _whispered a traitorous voice in his head) the original X-Men on the sandy shores, he and the rest of the mutants who had come with him found one of Shaw's old bases, where they could re-group and plan. Erik had bid them goodnight, found an old bedroom away from everyone and had locked the door. He then began to cry.

Weep was probably a more accurate term. Quietly, he wept for what he'd left behind, or rather who. Not that rag-tag team of teenagers, but for _him. _His actions had very nearly cost Charles his life, but it had cost Erik their relationship. He wasn't sure how, but in the short time that they'd been acquainted, the younger man had managed to get past the defences he'd built over the years and had made him feel emotions that he hadn't for so long.

Hope. Compassion. Love.

To this very day, Erik still remembered what was one of the lowest moments of his life. He remembered mourning not only what he'd lost, but what never could be. In the space of a few minutes, any ideas he'd had about convincing the Brit to fight by his side had been destroyed. Cuba had seen the loss of a brother and the creation of an unwanted enemy. An enemy that he couldn't bring himself to hate, no matter how hard he tried.

That had always irked him. It didn't matter how many times Charles and his students had thwarted any attempts against humanity that his Brotherhood made. Erik couldn't bring himself to hate the man. The same way that he knew Charles had never come to hate him, although he'd had plenty of reason to. After that night, Erik hadn't cried over Charles again. Finding out about the paralysis had brought him close, but he was simply emotionally exhausted.

That same exhaustion filled him now. Coupled with a sense of guilt, Erik continued to stare at the marble slab with his friend's name and face. It was simple, elegant and so very Charles. With a small smile, long forgotten memories resurfaced, and he allowed himself to remember.

***page break***

Even 50 years later, the feeling of finding someone who also had unique talents hadn't left him. Although, he thought with an inward chuckle, it was unlikely that he'd forget his first meeting with the boy who'd saved him from drowning. For he had been a boy. The serious tone had dropped somewhat when they'd been pulled out of the water, as they were being bombarded with blankets and medics, whilst Moira was ranting about his reckless behaviour. Charles had simply looked at Erik with a cheeky grin, as if they'd been friends for years, and held out his hand, despite already having introduced himself.

"_Charles Xavier, pleasure to meet you." _

"…_Erik. Erik Lensherr."_

"_Sorry about all this, I know they're a bit overwhelming, but I promise you they mean well."_

"_How did you do that?"_

"_Do what?"_

"_You were in my head, how did you-"_

"_Oh that! It's my mutation: I'm telepathic. I can read people's minds if I so wish, and even control them if need be. Don't worry though; it's not something I tend to do without permission. What about you?"_

"_Metal. I can uh, control metal. Anything with a magnetic field. "_

"_That's incredible, Erik!"_

"…_Thank you…Charles."_

That encounter was the first time that he'd received praise for his mutation that wasn't from Shaw, and it was also the first time that the praise had felt genuine, as it was given in an awestruck tone rather than a voice that was filled with something sinister. Charles hadn't looked at him like he was an experiment, but with genuine curiosity and kindness; something that Erik hadn't seen for years.

Other things came back too. Little moments between the two of them that no one else knew off. Like, he thought fondly, the moment the two had discovered their mutual love of chess. They were in the quarters at the CIA after Erik had agreed to look for mutants with Charles. They would be heading out in the morning, but were currently sharing a bottle of whiskey before they had to head to bed.

"…_I really am glad you decided to stay, my friend."_

"_Don't thank me yet, Charles. We still have to see if these mutants will even want to come with us."_

"_Of course. We'll know soon enough, I expect."_

"_Hmm."_

A companionable silence, that had lasted for god knows how long.

"_Do you play chess?" _

It was a question that they'd asked simultaneously, which had caused them both to share a small grin.

"_I suppose that answers my question…"_

"_Is there a board here?"_

"_I saw one the other day when Moira was showing Raven and I around the facilities. Would you…care for a game?"_

"_I wouldn't have asked otherwise, Lab Rat."_

"_Oh, be quiet."_

That would come to be the first of many exchanges between them, with both men somehow finding the time to joke and tease despite the upcoming battle with Shaw looming over them. For the first time in far too long, Erik had found someone who he enjoyed spending time with, someone who he trusted, and who actually trusted him back. It always surprised him when Charles would nod off whilst he and Erik were alone, dropping his guard around someone who for all intents and purposes was a complete stranger.

Recruiting the team on their "Road Trip" as Charles had jokingly called it was one of the happiest periods of Erik's life. He couldn't remember a time when he'd genuinely been happier since. It was little moments that made it; their conversations in the car, the odd trip to the pub, their chess matches where he finally had a competent opponent.

He came to learn a lot about his companion in those few weeks. He learned, for example, that Charles had recently graduated Oxford, yet wasn't sure what he wanted to make of himself. He learned that Charles' favourite novel was "The Once and Future King", which he'd strongly recommended Erik to read. He learned that Charles' step father and brother were both abusive, and had hurt him whilst growing up. He learned that Charles preferred tea, but would gladly take coffee if he was offered it.

Tiny details that became the foundations of their friendship.

Charles may have read his mind, but true to his word, didn't snoop without permission, and only used his gift to communicate with Erik from time to time. They tried to avoid the subject of their opposing viewpoints, as it had a nasty habit of creating awkward, tense silences that weren't fun for anyone involved.

He recalled the time that Darwin had been killed. The two of them had been in Russia at the time, and were on their way back to the truck when Charles noticed Moria's look of distress after talking to a colleague on the radio. She told them that the base had been attacked, and after assuring the big brother that Raven was alright, broke the news that one of their own had been killed. Charles had simply turned back towards the woods, leaving Erik to follow. He'd never forget finding the younger man crying behind a tree.

"…_Charles? Are you alright?"_

"_Erik, I…oh god, he…this is all my fault."_

"_Now, hold on. How on earth can this be your fault?"_

"_I…I used Cerebro to find him, I chose to go and talk to him. D-Darwin would still be driving his cab if it wasn't for me."_

"_Charles, you can't possibly think-"_

"_Don't Erik, just… I told him he could trust us, that he was among friends. God, what have I-"_

"_Hey, that's enough."_

"_Erik…"_

"_No, Charles. This is on Shaw, not you, so blame him. Or at least blame me too. I helped you convince Darwin to come with us, remember?"_

"_But…"_

And then Erik had done what had seemed like the most natural thing in the world. He pulled Charles into his arms, and held the man as he grieved. He himself hadn't cried over Darwin, but seeing Charles so distressed did make his eyes sting. That was the moment that it had dawned on Erik that this man was something else entirely: he was someone Erik cared about.

There was one other thing that Erik owed Charles. Without the telepath, he never would've learned to fully use his powers. Shaw had tried, but it wasn't the same. Unlike with Shaw, Charles looked past his mutation and simply saw Erik Lensherr. After showing him that precious moment with his Mother, he felt that he couldn't let the man down. The satellite had exhausted Erik, but the look on Charles' face had been worth the headache later that evening.

***page break***

With a soft sigh, Erik turned to face the satellite in question. It seemed, he thought, that Charles hadn't found another mutant who could manipulate metal, as it appeared to be in the same position it had been when he'd swung it around. Tightening his coat, he turned back to the memorial.

There were a thousand more memories that he could've relived, but Erik knew that if he didn't stop now, he never would. He didn't know how long he'd been stood there, but he had to leave before one of the students raised an alarm.

He wasn't in the mood for a fight. Not that he could've.

A small light shone through the night, and Magneto looked down at the small flame that had been placed as a mark of respect. _A light that seemed to withstand the darkness that surrounded it_, he mused, _now where have I heard that before…_

Stepping forward, he raised a hand and placed it on the smooth stone, before patting it once and letting his arm fall back to his side. Slipping his hand into a pocket, he pulled out an image that had somehow survived the toils of time. Staring back up at him was a smiling face with two warm blue eyes and a mop of unruly chestnut hair. He was standing next to a slightly taller man, who had his arm wrapped around the younger. Although he wasn't wearing the same broad grin as his companion, his lips were tugging at the edges. He was happy to be there.

Copying his smile of 50 years ago, Erik put the picture carefully away, and looked back up one more time.

"Goodbye, old friend." He simply said.

With a small nod, he turned away into the night, and walked away from Charles Xavier for the final time. HH

**The End**

**A/N: This turned out completely different from how I planned it, but I'm happy with it none the less :3 I hope you enjoyed it, and as always, I apologise for any spelling mistakes. Feel free to leave me a review or a suggestion for a story. Until next time guys…**


	5. The heart he hides

**A/N: *sheepish wave*It's been a while, huh. I can only apologise for my lack of uploads, which has been down to a combination of crappy internet, a lack of motivation and school. But now that it's summer, I should ideally be able to upload more, although I make no promises. **

**Anyway, this was a request from **_**timewaster123456789**_**, who wanted me to write a fic about Erik hearing about the paralysis, but from someone else's POV. (I know you said possibly from Mystique's, but I've used Angel 'cause I wanted Mystique to be the one to tell him…)**

**Warnings for a few bad words, and possible spelling mistakes.**

**I still don't own anything, so please don't sue me.**

The heart he hides

Today started out just like any other day. Magneto woke us all up at the crack of dawn (seriously, hadn't the guy heard of the weekend?) for a few hours of training, before Azazel went on a supply run, leaving the rest of us here at Shaw's old base. We've set up temporarily here until the boss can find somewhere "more suited to our needs".

Meaning somewhere with a crap-tonne of metal.

It's not like where we are now is terrible. One of Sebastian's old retreats, according to Emma. A generous two story estate complete with enough rooms for all of us, as well as a kitchen, three bathrooms and a gym. It's all held together with steel reinforcements, but it seems that our leader wants our headquarters to be nothing short of a metal trap, not to mention bigger and somewhere that Shaw hadn't owned.

After grabbing some lunch, I headed down to our aforementioned gym to practice one-on-one with Erik. According to him, we all have to learn how to fight as efficiently as we can, and that means having combat skills that don't involve our powers. Given the nature of my last job, I'm fairly good at holding my own. Now though? I'm really starting to believe that this Brotherhood has a chance.

So do our leaders apparently. Mystique, who's stopped answering to Raven, has definitely grown up, and is quickly becoming the best fighter amongst us (a fact that none of us are afraid to admit). Magneto, too, seems more driven than before, which I didn't think was possible. It's strange to think that this was the funny, caring guy who helped bring me to the CIA. He's been much colder since Cuba. It's as if the Erik Lehnsherr I'd first met hadn't left that beach.

Sometimes though, his eyes glaze over, and he sort of tunes out, as if he's staring at something, someone that only he can see and is long since gone. I may have flunked High School, but it doesn't take an Oxford graduate to guess who he's thinking about. We all learned the hard way that when he gets like that, it's better to let him come out of it on his own, or let Mystique handle it.

It always reminded me of when my Mom died, and Dad would sit in silence and look through old photos for days on end. I'd seen enough mourning to recognise the signs.

Coming into the training room, I saw Erik was already there, as usual. He was dressed in a simple black t-shirt and pants, what he always wore when training, and was pouring over a pile of brown folders that we'd obtained from the CIA when we went to rescue Emma.

"I just have to finish going over these files," he said without looking up "start warming up and I'll be with you shortly."

Wandering over to the far corner, I began by doing a few simple stretches and a lap around the room, before heading for the set punching bags that had collected in the room. I had barely started when I saw a blue figure enter the room, and watched out the corner of my eye as Mystique crossed the gym and walked straight towards Magneto without sparing me a glance or nod, something that struck me as strange. I subtly looked her up and down, and realised that everything about her posture screamed 'defeat', and her eyes were red and blotchy. She looked as if the weight of the world had descended all at once onto her shoulders.

"I need to talk to you." She said after a beat.

"Hold on, I have to finish reading-"

"**Now**, Erik."

That got his attention. We don't usually use our other names (our slave names, as Mystique likes to call them), so this must be serious. I kept fighting my target, whilst trying to keep them both within ear shot. Just in case Magneto needs something, of course.

"Well?" he demanded, clearly annoyed.

"I uh… I went by the Hospital." She sounded like she was trying not to be sick, which Magneto didn't seem to notice. He also apparently knew what _the Hospital_ was, which didn't surprise me, as those two had a habit of leaving us all in the evenings to go and "talk" in private.

"You did what? Why on earth would you-"

"I wasn't seen if that's what's bothering you." She snapped, clearly losing the grip on her tether.

"Are you sure? If you were followed then-"

"Erik, please." She interrupted again (but damn she was brave. Or stubborn) " Just…hear me out."

Magneto sighed and looked at her expectantly, folding his arms across his chest. It would've been funny if the tension in the room wasn't unbearably uncomfortable.

"I went by to, ah…to see how he was. I thought that after 2 weeks he wouldn't even be there anymore. But…he was." She took another breath "I couldn't risk going into his room, so I went into the Doctor's office to look over his file. It uh," Mystique cut off, looking down to the floor as she tried to gain some of her composure.

"Mystique, focus. What's wrong with him?" Erik also apparently knew who _he_ was, but I had suspicion that I did to.

"He…just read it" I then noticed that Mystique was also holding a brown file, but instead of the CIA's logo, there was the symbol from a Hospital in New York. Catching sight of the name printed in black, bold capitals, I felt a sinking feeling in the pit of my stomach. The last we'd seen of the Professor, he'd been lying shot and bleeding in the sand. That's not the kind of injury someone can just shake off and bounce back from, and with a sickening sense of clarity, I could tell there had been some sort of complication.

Taking the file with the upmost care, Magneto paused as if to weigh it, and after studying the 'XAVIER, CHARLES F.' on the front, opened it slowly and began to read. It was painful to watch as his expression shifted from denial to shock to guilt to heartbreak in the span of a few minutes. He met Mystique's look with a teary one of his own. "No… are you…" he trailed off into a whisper.

"Yes, Erik I'm sure. I overheard one of the nurses say something about 'the poor British kid on floor 3'".

Magneto just stared at her, unable to verbally respond. Exhaling shakily, he made a pitiful attempt at reining in his emotions, and spoke in a voice that was fast and uneven. "Alright. You stay here and work with Angel." I quickly turned my focus back to the target range, remembering that I probably shouldn't have heard any of that.

"Erik, I-"

"Thank you, Mystique." He spoke in a clipped tone before walking out of the gym t a near jog, the file held tightly to his chest.

"Erik!" Mystique yelled after him, but Magneto was long gone. Closing her eyes, she tried take several calming breaths, before suddenly turning around and attacking a punching bag as if it had personally wronged her and everyone she cared about. She hit the bag a couple of times before she seemed to deflate; still tense, but no longer trying to break the equipment.

"Hey, uh… is everything okay?" I asked hesitantly and somewhat dumbly, as there was no way in hell that anything which could make Erik Lehnnsher damn near break down in the training hall and run off could be considered even remotely 'okay'.

"What?" She started, as if she had only just noticed I was there. "Oh uh…" she paused, looking like she was debating if she should tell me. "It's Charles." She said finally.

"Your brother?" I cringed at my own words. Since we'd found this place, I hadn't heard her refer to the guy once, at least not by name. I knew the Professor was all for humans, so I had no clue where those two stood.

"Yeah…my brother," she said sounding uncomfortable, as if the term were something foreign. "He was injured a few weeks ago."

At Cuba, I confirmed. Of course I remember the guy getting shot, and I truly did feel bad for him. He may be too naïve for his own good when it comes to the humans, he was still a nice enough guy.

She nodded and swallowed. "He's still in the hospital. The Doctor said…" she paused, closing her eyes again, as if the answer physically pained her. Looking over at me, I fully saw the torment that was held in her still bloodshot eyes.

"He's never gonna walk again." She croaked.

Shit.

I'm sorry didn't feel like enough but I said it anyway. The girl nodded again, and I was suddenly reminded of that lost and scared teen that had fallen apart when Shaw was attacking the CIA base. #

"Are you-" I wanted to ask if she was alright, but I was cut off by a fiery glare that seemed to say 'of course not', 'just don't' and 'we're not going there' all at once.

Suddenly, our leader's reaction made sense. Anyone on either side could tell that they'd been close. Not to mention that it was his deflection that caused Charles' injury to begin with. I tried a different tactic.

"How's Magneto taking it?"

If she'd worked out I was listening, she didn't say anything. Instead, she swung her head around and looked over to the door that he'd left from. "…I'm not sure, but not well I guess. He blamed himself for Charles getting shot in the first place." She said after a pause, in a way that made me ask her one last thing.

"…Do _you_ blame him?"

My friend didn't speak. Didn't look at me. Didn't acknowledge my question in anyway. Instead, she took several deep breaths and swallowed with an audible 'gulp' before punching the bag one last time and moving towards the door too, muttering something about training being cancelled.

I stayed rooted to the spot, and watched her leave, not daring to call her back or follow. Normally, I was good with words, but there wasn't a single thing I could say to either of them that would help in the slightest.

Sometimes, it's best to take a step backwards and let people grieve.

* * *

**WESTCHESTER COUNTY GENERAL HOSPITAL  
PATIENT MEDICAL RECORD**

**DATE OF ADMISSION: **JUNE 15TH 1962

**PHYSICIAN: **DR. T COLLINS

**NAME: **CHARLES FRANCIS XAVIER

**AGE: **24

**GENDER: **MALE

**NATURE OF ILLNESS/INJURY:** SINGLEBULLET WOUND TO THE LOWER BACK

**PHYSICIAN'S NOTES: **Xavier was shot in a reported mugging in New York and was brought in by a CIA agent. The bullet had been removed before arrival, and the patient wasn't held still to help prevent further damage. After extensive surgery and tests, we have been unable to recover any feeling or sensation below the waist. Charles has suffered a permanent paralysis, and will never be able to walk again. He requires a wheelchair, as well as therapy to help him learn to adapt with it. I also recommend that he be monitored, as he has started displaying early on-set symptoms of depression, which could get much worse unless he receives help not only from us, but from his friends and family.

* * *

**The End**

**A/N: Well, there it is. I hope this is something similar to what you wanted, and again I apologise profusely for its lateness. I have a bunch of ideas for this series, but if there is anything in particular you would like to see, then please let me know and I'll do my best. Thank you for reading and please tell me what you thought. Until next time guys…**


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